


Everybody Loves Buddy

by grey853



Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, M/M, No Underage Sex, Underage Characters, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/grey853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up as a teenager on Wilby Island, Duck longed for Buddy French, but never told him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Loves Buddy

Title: Everybody Loves Buddy  
Author: Grey  
Fandom: Wilby Wonderful  
Pairing: Duck MacDonald/Buddy French played by Callum Rennie and Paul Gross respectively  
Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: Growing up as a teenager on Wilby Island, Duck longed for Buddy French, but never told him.

Warning: Very strong language, but no actual sex.

Everybody Loves Buddy  
By Grey  
Grey853@aol.com

Buddy French walked the halls of Wilby High School like he owned the place, which he pretty much did. Everybody loved Buddy, the teachers, the parents, and especially all the girls, who giggled and blushed whenever he came close. It wasn't just because his great grandfather discovered the island way back when or that his family was the first family of Wilby since forever. No, history had little to do with it. What it had to do with was the fact that Buddy was the best looking kid on the island, but more importantly, he was a good guy, a nice guy, friendly to just about anybody, even Duck MacDonald, a nobody, the son of a handyman.

Buddy laughed as he talked to Debbie Wright, a mainlander who'd just transferred in two weeks ago, a petite bottle-blonde that Duck tried hard to like, even though she didn't make it easy. She'd made fun of his name and laughed at his stutter on day one in Mrs. Mullin's algebra class. It wasn't like she was the first girl to ever humiliate him in a crowd, but it hurt that nobody but him seemed to care much anymore. He never could figure out why people had to be like that, pick on somebody and be mean for no reason. He took a deep breath and fumbled with the combination to his locker, pretending he didn't see the two lovebirds coming his way.

As he passed Duck's locker, Buddy's blue eyes caught Duck's and his million watt smile lit up the otherwise shitty day. "Hi, Duck."

"Hi, Buddy."

"Congratulations on winning the art contest. That was awesome."

Duck's cheeks burned, embarrassed by how much that praise meant. He cleared his throat and stammered, "Th...thanks. I...I thought your entry was good, too."

Buddy snorted and shook his head in amusement, his eyes crinkled and twinkling. "My entry was shit." Debbie tugged at Buddy's arm possessively, ignoring Duck and the intrusion of their friendly conversation into her alone time with Buddy. Buddy took the hint, waved goodbye, and kept walking. "See ya later, Duck."

"La...later, Buddy." By the time the words came out, Buddy was gone, he and Debbie vanished around the corner. Even out of sight, her stupidass giggle echoed down the hall and annoyed the shit out of him for some reason.

Duck cursed himself under his breath for being so stupid and slammed his locker shut. A hand settled on his arm. "Duck?"

Sandra Anderson's voice caught him off guard. He hadn't seen her come up beside him. "Hey, Sandra."

"You okay?"

"I...I'm fine. You?"

"I'm fine, or as fine as I can be, considering."

"Considering what?"

"That I'm still in Wilby."

The irritation drained away and Duck smiled at Sandra's familiar refrain of how much she hated the island and the town they'd lived in all their lives. "You'll miss it when you leave."

"Not likely, especially if you come with me."

Duck shook his head and turned around. He leaned back, holding his school books across his belly, his right leg bent and his foot braced against the locker. "I'm not going anywhere."

She smacked his arm playfully. "You've got no ambition."

"Sure I do, but it doesn't include leaving Wilby."

Sandra rubbed his arm where she'd hit it, leaning in, whispering seductively. "I could make it worth it. We could get a place together, have fun. We'll both be famous."

Duck pulled away and walked down the hall, Sandra moving into step by his side. Sandra's constant flirting in public made him uncomfortable even though he knew that it didn't really mean anything. She flirted with everybody, her sex as much a part of her as her skin or her puffy pink lips.

After hours, the school nearly empty, he needed to get home, but he didn't want to go, not yet. So, he kept the ball rolling by prompting, "Famous? How?"

"I'll be a star and you'll be a great artist."

Duck sighed and shook his head. It was an old game they played, the leaving Wilby game. Sandra loved to play, but it just made Duck tired. He had no plans to go anywhere. Sure, he liked to draw and paint, and from what everybody said he was pretty good at it, but like his mum said, you couldn't depend on it for a living. So, he'd stick with painting houses and signs or fixing whatever needed to be fixed, just like his old man. Nothing wrong with that, or so he kept telling himself and Sandra. "You want to go to Iggy's and get a pop?"

She laced her arm through his and walked out the side door with Duck as her escort. "Sure."

They walked quickly to the diner, the March wind still freezing and full of the promise of more stormy weather, maybe even snow. He opened the door for her and they walked in, the entrance bell dinging. Sandra shook her wet, blond hair in his face and he wiped his cheek as they walked over and sat down at the back table by the window. John Forest, known as Iggy for some reason Duck didn't know about, called out from behind the counter. "You kids want the usual?"

Sandra smiled and nodded. "Yeah, two cokes, and can we have an order of fries, too, please?"

"Sure thing, young lady."

While the old man fixed the order, Duck put the books on the seat beside him. He liked Iggy's, the way it got quiet between lunch and supper, especially in winter. He could hear himself think, not like the other places around town like The Loyalist or the Rita's soda shop where most of the popular kids like Buddy hung out. He decided if he knew one true thing about himself, it was that he liked quiet more than most folk. It suited him and, unlike Sandra, he wasn't afraid of it.

"What are you thinking?"

Iggy put two cokes down in front of them before Duck answered. "Here you go, kids. The fries will be done in a minute. I'll bring you two plates."

"Thanks, Iggy."

"No problem, Miss Sandra."

As he walked away, she turned her attention back to Duck. "What's going on with you?"

"Going on?"

"Yeah, going on. You've been acting funny lately."

He hunched his shoulders as he took the straw out of his drink. "Funny how?"

"I don't know, just funny, like you're keeping a secret or something."

Duck drank some of his coke, while Sandra sipped hers through a straw. He didn't want to talk about this, not with Sandra, not with anybody. His secrets were nobody's business. When he didn't answer, she sighed and then shook her head and crossed her arms. God, she pouted better than anybody he ever saw. Her eyes turned a little red. Suddenly concerned that he'd really hurt her feelings, he leaned in closer to the table, keeping his voice low. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Sandra, what's wrong?"

"You don't trust me."

The words hit him like a slap, not because of the conviction behind them, but because of the truth. He didn't trust her, didn't trust anyone, not with the thing he carried around with him, the dangerous thing that made him so different from Sandra, from Buddy, from everybody in the whole fucking town. He swallowed hard and tried to be as honest as he could be. "It's personal."

"Personal? What's that mean?"

"P...personal as in private. It's not something I want to talk about. Besides, it's got nothing to do with you and me."

"Oh, yeah? How do you figure? I tell you about me and Jimmy."

"And Raymond and Tommy and..."

"Shut up. Don't be such an arsehole."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm not j...judging you."

"Sounded like it."

"I'm not. Who you go out with is your own business."

A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand like she didn't want him to see that she had real feelings. She kept her eyes shut for a few seconds as Iggy brought the fries. He didn't say anything and hurried into the kitchen instead of staying behind the counter and drinking his coffee like usual. Duck wanted to kick himself for being such a shit. "Look, I mean it, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I know people think I'm a slut."

"Don't say shit like that. You're not."

"I know, but thanks anyway for saying it."

She reached out and took a French fry. She washed it down with the coke before she whispered, "You're my best friend, Duck. If you've got a secret and want to keep it, fine, but you can trust me. I won't tell anybody. Promise."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Not even about Buddy?"

Duck's world froze for a heartbeat, but then he swallowed hard. "What's Buddy French got to do with anything?"

"You like him, right?"

"Everybody likes Buddy."

"Everybody loves Buddy, including you."

Suddenly angry, Duck snapped, "Don't be stupid."

Sandra kept her voice even, but low and firm. "I'm not stupid and I'm not blind. I see how you look at him."

Duck couldn't meet her eyes. If he did, he might melt away, dissolve and vanish, never to be seen again. She knew and now he knew she knew. Fuck. He wanted to die or crawl in a hole somewhere dark and quiet, or maybe hang himself and be done with it. Sandra was smart about people, always had been. Sitting with his hands in his lap and his head down, he shrugged. "I...l...look at him like everybody else does. There's no harm in looking. He'd m...make a good subject for a p...painting, that's all."

"No bullshit, okay?" Duck shrugged again, but didn't say anything. He still couldn't face her intense gaze. "Duck, listen, it's okay. It doesn't matter to me. We're still friends, yeah?"

Seconds passed before he raised his head and asked, "Are we?"

"Sure we are. You think that makes any difference to me? I think he's cute, too. I've wanted to fuck him for ages. How about you?"

Duck blushed scarlet and looked around, glad that they were the only people in the diner other than Iggy who was still hiding out in the kitchen. "Damn, you've got a mouth on you, Anderson."

"Oh, yeah, I get all kinds of compliments about my mouth."

Duck snorted and grinned, relieved that they were back to familiar ground, Sandra and sex. "Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah." She picked up another fry, taking her time to lick it suggestively before sucking it in with one big slurp and swallow. Then she smiled and relaxed. "I'm glad it's out in the open."

Muscles tight again, Duck shook his head. "Nobody else knows."

"That's because they think you're with me."

"With you?"

"Don't tell me you didn't know that."

"Know what?"

"That people think we're a couple."

"But you're dating Jimmy."

"Doesn't matter. They think I'm two-timing you, a real cheating bitch, but they still think we're fucking. Guess that sort of makes me your cover. Nobody has to find out as long as we hang out together. I'll never tell, not even Deena."

Stunned by Sandra's revelation, Duck played with the edge of the table for a few moments. Finally, he cleared his throat, the words hard to say. "It doesn't bother you, people thinking about you like that?"

"They think what they want anyway, bunch of fucking hypocrites, like nobody else does it." She sighed heavily and picked up a few more fries. "Besides, it doesn't matter. I'm going to leave this hellhole as soon as I'm old enough. I've got an aunt who lives in New York City. I can live with her and do auditions. I want to make it big time, singing in all the right places. That'll show these narrow-minded fuckers that I'm not dirt, that I'm somebody."

He reached across the table and took her hand. "You'll always be somebody to me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good, now eat a French fry. You're too damn skinny and I need to tell you about me and Jimmy."

Duck groaned, but released her hand to grab a fry. He sat back, feeling suddenly lighter than air. Sandra knew and she didn't hate him, didn't think he should rot in hell for being a pervert. Of course, as much as he loved her, he knew Sandra was different from most people in Wilby, a real freak, and he also knew freaks had to stick together. "So, what's old Jimmy up to?"

"The son of a bitch won't wear a rubber."

"Arsehole."

"Oh, yeah, but he's a gorgeous arsehole."

"That gorgeous arsehole's going to get you into trouble if you're not careful."

"God, I hope not."

Duck hoped not, too, but he had a bad feeling that he could see the future. Sandra might end up leaving Wilby for a whole different reason than she ever wanted if she kept letting Jimmy get away with shit. "You want me to talk to the guy?"

"No, he'd get pissed."

"I will, I'll talk to the guy. Just say the word and I'm all over his sorry ass. I don't want him knocking you up or giving you a disease because he can't be bothered to give a shit."

Sandra smiled with affection and shook her head. "Calm down, Mr. Knight in shining armor. Don't worry about it. I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

"I can't help but worry. You get pregnant, your mum will send you away."

"Yeah, well, worse things have happened."

Duck shook his head and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about being all alone in Wilby.

&&&&&&

Duck hated literature almost as much as he hated algebra. He spent an hour reading and none of it made sense. The words got all mixed up or something, all backwards and turned around. He knew he wasn't stupid, but when it came to books, he might as well be. Working his way through THE SCARLET LETTER was torture, pure, unadulterated torture. What a lame book to have to read. Most of the words didn't even look like real words, and no way people talked like that even back in the old days. Why couldn't writers just write about real stuff, stuff that happened to real people, not about made up characters nobody cared about. Why the fuck did teachers make kids read that shit anyway?

He pitched the novel on his bed, knowing without a doubt he'd fail the stupid quiz again tomorrow. If he ended up in summer school, his dad would kill him. That's when they did the most painting. It was really the only time he and dad got along on a regular basis, so he sure didn't want to fuck that up, too. "Shit."

A soft knock came at his door and his mum put her head in. "Walter? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mum."

"I thought I heard-"

"I'm okay. Don't worry about it." He turned in his seat and eyed his mother, suddenly concerned. She never came up to his room over the garage unless something was wrong. "What's up?"

"You've got a visitor."

"A visitor? Me?"

"Buddy French. Is that okay?"

A roar swelled up around him and his head swam. It took a moment for him to realize his mother had her hand on his forehead. "Do you have a fever, sweetie? You feel warm."

Duck pushed the hand away and stood up. "I'm fine, Mum. What's Buddy want?"

"Something about an art project."

"Art project?"

"That's what he said, dear. Should I let him come up?"

Hands stuffed deeply in his jean's pockets, his face still flushed, he nodded. "Sure, sure, no problem."

"You can ask him to stay for supper if you want. I made meatloaf and there's plenty. Your father won't mind. It'll be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"I doubt he'll want to stay."

"No harm in being polite, Walter. You know his mother's been ill again. It can't be easy for the boy. It might do him some good to have a hot, home-cooked meal."

Duck had heard about Buddy's mum, how she'd come down with some kind of chronic, hush-hush illness. Some people said she had cancer, some kind of female cancer, and had lost all her hair from the chemo so she never came outside anymore. Others said she was just too depressed to leave the house. Whatever it was, Buddy never talked about it and nobody ever said anything other than to ask how she was doing. Buddy just acted like the same old, happy-go-lucky Buddy French, the guy everybody could count on for a laugh and a quick smile. Duck noticed the smile didn't always make it to his eyes anymore though, and he felt really bad about that. He wondered what it would feel like to have to be on all the time, everybody watching a guy's every move like he was in the spotlight. Buddy must be used to it, but like his mum said, it couldn't be easy.

"Tell him to come on up, Mum."

His mother used her hand and a little spit to tame a wild hair at the back of Duck's head, just like she used to do when he was little before he went off to school. "I'll do that." She was gone before he could complain about her messing with his hairdo like he was a big baby.

Duck glanced around the room to make sure it was suitable for company. His chest hurt, all tight and achy, and he took several deep breaths to calm himself. Buddy was just Buddy. It was no big deal. Yeah, right, like he believed that. He walked over and covered his latest canvas, Buddy's likeness just starting to appear in the mix of flesh tones. Then he turned on an extra lamp just as Buddy stepped through the door. "Hi, Duck."

"Hey, Buddy. What's going on?"

"I should've called first."

"It's okay. Mum said something about an art project. What's that about?"

Ignoring the question, Buddy walked in and looked around, taking in the fact that it was a fairly large open space, a lot bigger than a typical bedroom. Even though it was winter and nearly dark outside, there'd be plenty of natural light in the daytime. Duck's easel, paints, and art supplies took up the whole side closest to the windows, while the bed, desk, and chair were over by the door in the corner near the small bathroom. Reds and greens in the quilt Duck's grandmother made him warmed the room with color, but not as much as the paintings of The Watch and other artwork did. Buddy whistled. "Nice."

"Thanks. I like it."

Buddy stepped closer and studied one of the Watch paintings, the summer view. "This is really good, like something you'd see in a museum. Better even." His finger touched a spot on the canvas. "I like to go right here in the summer and just look out, thinking about what my great grandfather must've felt when he first landed. I can look at this and it's like I'm there. That's pretty amazing."

For the second time that day, Duck flushed with embarrassment. He wasn't used to praise, and to have it from Buddy made it even more strange. Buddy didn't talk to him that much, not since they were in junior high. Sure they were in some of the same classes, but Buddy had his group of friends and Duck had himself and Sandra. "Thanks."

Buddy turned and stared at him. "I mean it. You should do something with these. I know I would."

Duck met his gaze, forcing himself to hold his ground and not look away. Just because Buddy filled his dreams at night didn't mean he couldn't talk to the guy without making a fool of himself. "What do you want, Buddy?"

"Teach me."

"Teach you to what?"

"Paint."

Duck wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Teach you to paint?"

"Yeah, teach me to paint like you do. I'd pay you."

Duck snorted and sat down in the chair, motioning for Buddy to sit, too. "I'm not a teacher."

Buddy took off his coat, still arguing as he sat down. "You could be."

Duck leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Just the thought of being in the same room with Buddy for hours on end while he taught him how to hold a brush or work a canvas, well, it made him all tingly and a little bit light-headed. No way could he do that and not give himself away, no fucking way. "They give art classes over at the school and Mr. Whitehouse gives private lessons. He's good, too, and reasonable."

Buddy sat back, arms crossed, frowning. "You're saying you won't do it?"

"I'm saying I can't."

"Why not?"

Duck didn't look up as he made his case, picking at the loose skin from an old callous on his palm. "I can paint, sure, but I can't teach you how to do it. It's l...like, I don't know, like breathing. How do you teach somebody to breathe?"

"Plus, I've got no talent."

That brought Duck's head up. He'd seen Buddy's drawings. The weren't bad, but they weren't great, either. Even if they were real shit, though, he'd never say that to anybody. Duck hated to hurt people's feelings, especially when it came to something they couldn't help. "I'm not saying that. You do okay work."

"But not like you, like it's just natural. My stuff sucks compared to yours." Duck didn't get the chance to apologize before Buddy added, "It must be nice to be able to do that, to just draw and paint without having to try so hard."

Duck sat back and crossed his arms, a reflection of Buddy's posture. "I don't know. I never really thought about it. It's just something I do, sort of like how easy it is for you to read out loud in class. I c...can't do that."

Buddy picked up the book on the bed and opened it. He flipped through the pages, and then stopped. He read aloud, his voice modulating to emphasize the text, just like the teacher did when she read. "'A bodily disease, which we look upon as whole and entire within itself, may, after, all, be but a symptom of some ailment in the spiritual part.'" Buddy paused a moment as if considering the meaning and then tossed the book aside. He ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair.

Duck cleared his throat, nervous about his next question. He figured what Buddy picked to read must mean something or he wouldn't have read it. "How's your mum?"

"Okay, I guess, same as usual. This Hawthorne guy's saying when you're sick on the outside, it's because you're sick on the inside. You believe that?"

"I don't know. Maybe for some things, like when you feel shitty and sick to your stomach because somebody's dumped all over your ass, but it's not true all the time. I mean, you don't get the measles because you're depressed, right?"

Buddy listened to his argument and then nodded in agreement like he was relieved about something. "Right. Makes sense. Besides, they're just words. As for reading out loud in class, you need more confidence, that's all. You get nervous and you stutter. Maybe if you practiced some, you wouldn't be so self-conscious."

"It'd help if the words made sense."

Sighing, Buddy shrugged. "It's a hard book, but I could help you with it if you want. We're in the same class after all. We could study together."

Duck sat back, shaking his head as he confessed. "I don't read worth shit, Buddy. You know that. It's no secret that I fail most of the quizzes."

"All the more reason to study together."

Rubbing the back of his neck and head, tempted, Duck still resisted. "What do you get out of it? You already ace the quizzes."

"Yeah, well, maybe it'd be nice to have somebody to talk to who doesn't giggle all the time."

Duck studied him and then finally grinned as he took his meaning. "Debbie getting on your nerves already?"

"Something like that. Don't get me wrong, she's a nice girl, pretty, too, but she tends to cling. It gets old."

Duck nodded, thinking Debbie lasted longer than most of the girls Buddy dated. He played along. "Yeah, she does cling. I totally get that."

"So, anyway, if I were studying with you, I'd have an excuse to not spend every minute with her after school."

Still unsure, Duck shook his head. It didn't make sense that Buddy wanted to hang out with him, not when he could be with any girl he wanted, or any guy, too. "I don't know. I mean, I still can't teach you to paint or anything."

Buddy shrugged again. "That's okay." He paused and then added, "Maybe I could just watch you paint sometime, or you could paint me."

"Paint you?"

"Yeah, paint me, make a picture for my mum. She's always talking about getting a portrait done. Her birthday's next month. It'd be a nice present, a MacDonald original."

Mouth open, Duck stared in disbelief. "You want me to do your portrait?"

"Sure. I'd pay you for it."

Duck stood up and paced a few times before he stopped. It was a big mistake, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd fucked up. "Okay, how about I'll do the portrait, if you help me through English class?"

"Great." Buddy got up, holding out his hand to seal the deal.

Duck held his hand up and out of reach. "Not so fast. I've got a couple of conditions."

Buddy stopped, eying him closely before he prompted, "Which are?"

"Which are, nobody else comes in while I'm working. I don't want Debbie or any other girl showing up. I can't work with an audience."

"I'll be an audience."

"You don't count."

"I don't count?"

Duck shrugged, knowing he was lying through his teeth. "You count, but not as an audience. You're the subject. I have to have you here if I want to get the nose right."

Touching the side of his nose, Buddy grinned. "My nose, huh?"

"And your ears. Ears are hard."

Buddy nodded knowingly. "Yeah, they are. When I try to draw somebody, the ears always turn into Dumbo ears."

"They do not."

"They do, too. Did you see that one picture I drew of Johnny Whitlock?"

Duck laughed out loud for the first time since Buddy's arrival. "Sorry, but Johnny Whitlock really does have big ears."

"So he does. My mistake." Buddy smiled easily and put his hand out again. "So, is it a deal?"

Sighing deeply, knowing he'd kick himself before it was over, Duck shook Buddy's hand. "It's a deal. You get me through this semester and I'll paint a portrait for your mum."

"Thanks. So, you want to start studying tonight so you don't fail the quiz tomorrow?"

"You want to stay for supper?"

"Supper?"

"Yeah, we're just having meatloaf, but my mom's a great cook, even if I say so myself."

"Sounds good, thanks. Yeah, I'd like that."

His mother would just be happy that he finally brought a friend to supper other than Sandra. She had no clue about how much it meant to him, too, Buddy French and Duck MacDonald, friends and study buddies. Go figure. He just wondered how long it would last before Debbie or some other girl would take Buddy away for something better than what Duck offered. He didn't want to think about that so he motioned to the door that led to the house. "After you."

9999999

Half an hour later, they came back to Duck's room. Buddy dropped down on the bed and held his stomach as he complained. "Jesus, that was good, but I'm stuffed."

Duck smiled, remembering the second helpings piled on Buddy's plate. "Yeah, you pigged out a little."

"Hey, your mum's the best cook ever and meatloaf's my favorite."

The defensive tone caught Duck off guard. "I didn't mean anything. You can eat what you want. In fact, before you leave, Mum'll probably give you some to take home for you and your folks."

Buddy relaxed a little, no longer pissed. "So, how do you stay so thin with food like that every night?"

Settling into the chair at the desk, Duck shrugged. "I've always been skinny, even as a kid."

"I remember. You used to be short, too, but not anymore. Now you're taller than me."

"Am I?"

"Yeah. Don't believe me? Check it out." Buddy stood up, indicating that Duck should stand, too. Back to back, Buddy used the flat of his right hand over their heads to show that Duck was, indeed, a couple of inches taller. Funny, he'd never realized that. He'd always thought of Buddy as taller, but then he always stood up a lot straighter than Duck ever did. "See?"

Duck turned around, nodding. "Weird."

"Yeah, I guess." Buddy sat back on the bed and Duck in the chair. "So, how come you still call yourself Duck? Why not go back to Walter or Walt?"

Slouching down in the chair, arms crossed, Duck thought about it. "I don't know. That's just what people call me. I'm used to it."

"Your mum doesn't."

"No, and neither does my dad, but everyone else does, ever since you started it in third grade."

Buddy sat up straighter, his eyes a little wider. "Me? I started it?"

"Yeah, remember? We were playing dodge ball and you said I was so short that it looked like I was already ducking the ball. You called me Duck that whole day and it sort of stuck."

Buddy shook his head as he tried to recall the day that Duck knew all too well, the day his whole identity changed with a word from Buddy. "I don't remember that. I thought it was Owen Watts who started it."

"Nope, it was you."

"Sorry."

"I don't mind."

"You don't?"

"No. If I did, I would've said something."

Buddy cocked his head. "You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure."

"I mean, you never say anything when people rag on you. I mean, I'd probably have been suspended at least a dozen times if people said some of that shit to me."

"They'd never say that shit to you."

"True, but still."

Duck took his meaning and crossed his arms. He never fought back, not once, not even when they were really mean and acted like they wanted him to throw a punch. He just let things go, sort of like water off a duck's back. "Duck suits me. I don't mind."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's good then. I'm glad."

"Why's that?"

"Well, I guess because I think of you as Duck and not Walter. I just wondered about it, that's all."

"You think about my name much?"

Buddy leaned forward, his hands together, not meeting Duck's gaze. "Sometimes. I think about a lot of stuff, weird stuff. Don't you?"

"I guess, sometimes. I mean, you can't help what pops in your head, yeah?"

"I guess."

Duck reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray. He'd seen Buddy sneaking smokes before so he held out the pack. "Want one?"

"God bless you, Duck MacDonald. You don't even know." Buddy made a big production of taking the cigarette, closing his eyes and sniffing it deeply before putting it in his mouth. Duck gave him the matchbook after lighting his own. Once he lit up, Buddy took a long drag and sighed happily. "I go outside to smoke at home. Mum hates it, but I'm sixteen for fuck sake."

"Yeah, mine hates it, too, but Dad smokes, so she can't really say much. She just makes me pay for my own. Plus, she won't let me smoke in the house."

"Is that why your bedroom's out here?"

Duck enjoyed the cigarette and the relaxed way they sat and just chatted. He didn't mind telling the story of how he got his room. "My dad used to work out of the garage, you know, for his business. This was his office. When he got the new shop downtown, he let me move in here and my mum took my old room for a sewing room."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She makes dresses and does mending. She needed some place to sew and it worked out great for me. I mean, it's so quiet over here and I've got a lot more space. It's even got a bathroom and one of those little refrigerators. It's like having my own apartment or something, but I don't have to pay rent."

"Sounds like a sweet deal. I'm jealous."

"Hey, you've got a nice house, Buddy. You've got like what, four bedrooms or something? You could probably have any room you wanted."

Buddy's face darkened, his eyes focused on something far away. "It's nice house, but with mum sick, it's not the same. You like quiet, but I kind of like having people around, you know? It's lonely sometimes now that my sister, Edna, has gone off to the mainland for college. I hardly ever see her anymore."

"What about your dad? Can't you talk to him? I mean, I don't know him, but he seems like an okay guy."

Buddy got up and walked over to the window, staring out into the darkness towards the Watch, his arms crossed. "My dad sucks."

"Yeah? How come?"

"My mum's sick and he's messing around."

Duck had heard rumors, but he'd chalked them up to just stupid gossip. Now Buddy confirmed the ugly truth. "Oh, man, that does suck."

"He's a first class arsehole sometimes. He makes my mum cry. I mean, he's my old man, but he shouldn't be doing that shit."

Duck wanted to give Buddy a hug, not a love hug, but one that might make him feel better. He didn't dare though. Buddy might not take it the right way and if there was one thing Buddy didn't need, it was more shit in his life. "I'm sorry."

"Aren't you going to ask who he's fucking?"

"Doesn't matter. It's not my business."

Buddy turned, studied him intently, and then nodded in approval. "Thanks for that."

"For what?"

"You just proved that you're better than most of the nosy fucks in this town. They're always messing in people's business, especially mine, like they've got some fucking god-given right to know what's going on with my family. They think I don't hear, but I do. I just ignore them, but it's damn hard sometimes."

"Yeah, well, it's probably best to ignore that stuff. It's just talk."

"You're not like that, though. You don't judge people and shit."

"I'm not better than anybody. I just do my own thing and let other people do theirs. Live and let live, that's my policy."

"That alone makes you better."

"Does it?"

"In my book, yeah." Buddy sat back down again and shifted a little uneasily on the bed. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray and turned to business. "Speaking of books, guess we should get started working on the assignment, yeah?"

"If we have to."

"Come on, it won't be that bad. How much have you read so far?"

"Enough to figure that I don't get what the hell's going on."

Buddy picked up the book, but didn't open it. "Tell me in your own words what the plot is."

Taking a deep breath, Duck rubbed his forehead with one hand. It made his brain ache to think about all this stuff. "Well, I can tell you what I remember from the class discussions, but to be honest I don't know shit about what the book actually says."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's like reading another language."

Frowning, Buddy opened the book, scanned through a few pages until he came to a particular page and stopped. He held out the book to Duck and pointed at a passage. "Read this out loud to me."

"Buddy-"

"Come on. It's just me. Read it."

Reluctantly, Duck put out his cigarette and took the book. His mouth dry, he had to swallow several times to get enough spit to read. It was bad enough to make a fool out of himself in front of the class, but now he was going to look stupid in front of Buddy. "I'm not good at this shit."

"Just try. I want to see something."

"See what?"

"Read it, Duck. Quit stalling."

Duck rubbed his eyes, wishing the print were bigger. "No man, for any period, wears a face to the multitude, without getting bewildered by true." Duck shook his head. "See? It doesn't make sense."

Buddy sat up straighter, his face more serious. "Is that how it reads to you?"

"Well, yeah. How does it read to you?"

Taking the book back, Buddy read quietly, "No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true."

Duck frowned, wondering why it sounded so different when Buddy read it. "I don't get it. Where'd it say that?"

Instead of answering, Buddy asked, "What's he saying? What do those words mean?"

"He's saying that if a guy's two-faced or a hypocrite, it'll catch up with him. He'll get confused about who he really is."

"Yeah, that's exactly what it means."

"So why did it make sense when you read it, but not when I did?"

"Because you left out half the words."

"But that's what it looked like."

Buddy took a long breath and then worried his lower lip with his tongue before he finally spoke. "Yeah, I know, that's what it looks like to you, but not to other people. I noticed it when you read in class. You don't just stutter. You either change the words around or leave out half the sentence. At first I thought it was just because you were nervous, but then I got to thinking. My cousin John, he does the same thing. They told him on the mainland that he had some kind of learning disability. He got special classes to help out and now he's doing great in school. Of course, he goes to school on the mainland, not here in Wilby where nobody knows shit about anything."

His cheeks hot, Duck snapped. "You saying I'm stupid, that I'm some kind of special ed case?"

"No, not stupid. I'm saying you don't read the same way other people do and that's why it's hard to figure out what the books say."

"Sounds stupid to me."

"You're not stupid, Duck. Listen to what I'm saying. When you hear somebody else read, you understand fine, yeah?"

"Yeah, but-"

"So, all we have to do is get you one of those audio books or something. Or I could read the book to you."

"I can read. I'm just not good at it."

"I'm not saying you can't read. I'm just saying you hear the words better than you see them for some reason. I mean, I don't know how to fix that part, but I can make it easier by helping."

Slumped back in his chair, Duck tried to figure out what the hell just happened. "You're saying I'm reading, but I'm reading it all wrong, but that when I hear it read, I get it?"

"Yeah, exactly, which means you're not stupid, not even close."

"But why's it like that?"

"I don't know. Ask a teacher or the counselor. I just know that if you don't want to end up taking this class over again, I can help."

"But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why help? What do you get out of it?"

Buddy met his challenging gaze, not blinking, not uneasy at all. "I get a friend who can draw my portrait. I get somebody I can talk to about family stuff who won't be blabbing all over. How's that?"

Duck swallowed hard, his gut all tight, a little insulted that Buddy thought he had to make a deal to get a friend. How fucked up was that? "You can have that without the help, Buddy. You don't have to bribe me. You could've had that all through high school. Why now? What's different from last year or the year before that?"

"Fair question. I guess, I'm just now figuring out what's important. You'd be surprised at the number of two-faced people there are in Wilby, Duck, people who just want to hang out and pretend to be friends when they don't even know what being friends means."

Reluctantly, Duck decided to take Buddy at his word. Maybe he had changed, maybe he did want to be more than just acquaintances born on the same island who went to the same high school. "I guess that makes sense."

"Besides, I always did like you. You're the one who's kind of a loner."

"I'm not a loner."

"Come on, Duck. Be real. You pretty much are except for that thing you have with Sandra."

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't like just having people around to have someone around, you know? I don't really need that many people."

"I know. I admire that about you, but I like people most of the time. Sometimes they can be shitty, but then sometimes I can be shitty, too. I guess it all works out, yeah?"

"I guess."

Buddy rubbed the edge of the book as he worked up to the next question. "So, what's the deal between you and Sandra Anderson anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you two a couple or what?"

"We're just friends."

Buddy's face split into a sly grin, like he was sharing a dirty secret. "Friends with benefits, yeah?"

Duck pursed his lips and shook his head, annoyed as hell. "Knock it off, Buddy. Sandra's off limits, okay? I don't talk about my friends like that."

Again Buddy's blue eyes locked with his. After a few seconds, he nodded and smiled. "Got it. I won't talk about her."

"Good."

They sat in silence for a full thirty seconds before Buddy finally cleared his throat. "Why don't I start reading and you can draw me while you listen?"

Duck didn't see the harm in trying. "Okay, sure, just don't expect me get it the first time through."

"Don't worry about it. If you've got a question, just stop me and I'll try to explain."

Sighing heavily, Duck nodded for him to begin. As Buddy read slowly, making the world of injustice heaped on Hester Prynne and her daughter Pearl come alive, Duck sketched his favorite subject, his heart light for the first time in ages.

Three chapters and four sketches later, Duck put the pad down and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "So, let me get this straight. This Hester chick is forced to marry this creepy old guy and if that's not bad enough, he sends her across the ocean by herself and just leaves her there on her own. Then after of couple of years of no show, she gets knocked up by the preacher, some chickenshit who won't even cop to it, right?"

"Right."

"And the people in this shitty little town, they throw her in jail until she has the baby and then make her wear this scarlet letter so everybody knows what she did, doesn't matter that the old man might be dead or anything?"

"The laws were different back then. Can you imagine if we had to live like that, everybody ready to throw you in jail if they thought you were doing something they thought was a sin?"

Duck reached for a cigarette and lit it, thinking and wondering what people back then might do to people like him, guys who wanted to be with other guys. He closed his eyes and shook his head, the images too horrible to picture for long. "We'd be up shit creek in a hurry."

"That's putting it mildly."

Duck shook his head as he continued to discuss the details of the story. "And then the husband shows up after being shipwrecked and makes her keep quiet about who he really is so he can find out who fucked her. That way he can take revenge. Man, that is like so fucking fucked up."

"Yeah, but what I don't get is Chillingworth. How do you suppose he knew to zero in on Dimmesdale like that, to just worm his way to his life so he could get revenge? I mean, Hester was rock solid, never said a word."

"I don't know, but I don't really care. Dimmesdale was a first class jerk. He should've told people about him and Hester. It wasn't right for him to treat her like that. Then he let the kid take all that shit, too. Kid didn't do anything wrong. That sucked."

"Yeah, I agree. He was an arsehole." Buddy reached over and picked up Duck's sketch pad. His breathing hitched as he leafed through the pages. "Damn, I look good."

Duck laughed out loud, pleased that Buddy approved of the drawings. "Like yourself much?"

"I'd fuck me if I could."

Duck's mouth got all dry and his dick ached. He knew the feeling. "Get a room and fuck yourself. Be happy."

Buddy chuckled and then put the pad down. "Might do that later tonight, thanks." He took a deep breath and stood up, suddenly acting all nervous and uptight. "I need to get home. It's getting late."

"Sure, okay. You want me to ask my mum about taking some food home?"

"No, that's okay. Mum's sleeping and Dad's out, so I'll probably just do the rest of my homework and go to bed."

"Sounds like fun, not."

"You've got that right. Might call Debbie. Of course, if I do, I'll never get off the fucking phone. That girl knows how to talk a guy's ear off, that's for sure."

Duck didn't want to hear about Debbie. "Look, thanks for coming over and helping tonight."

"No problem. You want to do it again tomorrow?"

"You want to?"

"Sure, why not, but I don't expect your mum to fix me supper. I'll come by after seven if that's okay."

"That sounds good, but-"

"But what?"

"Tomorrow's Friday night."

"So?"

"So, I figured you'd be out with Debbie."

Buddy waved a hand of dismissal, grabbed his coat off the bed, and stepped to the door. "Don't worry about that. We'll go out some other time. Besides, the book's just getting good and it'll give you more time to work on the portrait."

On impulse, not wanting the night to end, Duck asked, "Want me to walk you to your house?"

Buddy's eyes narrowed as he snapped, "Walk me home? What? You think I'm a girl or something? I don't need an escort."

Duck turned beet red and stepped back, embarrassed and hurt. "I...I'm sorry. I just-"

Putting a hand on Duck's shoulder, Buddy squeezed. "No, I'm sorry. I'm a dickhead when I'm tired. See you tomorrow. Good luck on the quiz."

Before Duck said a word, Buddy raced down the stairs and out the garage door. Scratching his head, Duck tried to figure out what the fuck just happened. He could've sworn Buddy just panicked about something, but he had no idea what set it off.

Duck gave up trying to figure it out and walked over to the sketch pad. He picked it up, studying the details of each picture. The first drawing had Buddy's head down as he read the book, his eyes focused on the printed word, his dark wavy hair falling forward across his forehead. The others had him talking, laughing, and just leaning back on the bed shooting the breeze. Each one gave Duck a thrill deep down inside, his own captured moment with Buddy.

Putting the pad over by the easel, Duck replaced the old canvas with a new one. For the first time ever he painted his favorite subject with permission. New energy guided his hand as he began the portrait of Buddy French, not just his face, but his whole body, his whole person, a guy full of strength and promise. Inspired, Duck knew he'd be lucky to sleep at all that night.

999999999

The next day Mrs. Williams held him after English class and accused him of cheating. His quiz paper had an A on it, but the A had been marked over and replaced with a big fat zero. "So, Mr. MacDonald, what do you think I should do about this?"

She sat there behind her desk, all sure of herself, like she knew the truth. The bitch had no fucking clue about anything. Red-faced, working hard to control his temper, Duck forced his voice to remain civil. He might hate her guts sometimes, but she was still his teacher and his mum would kill him if he didn't respect that fact. Didn't matter that she disrespected him all the time. He guessed he should be glad she hadn't said all this shit in front of the whole class. His voice cracked over the words. "Do about what?"

"Don't give me that, young man. You cheated. You're already failing the class. You should study harder, not take shortcuts." She leaned in, her voice soft, like she was trying to be concerned and caring. Fuck that. "Should I call your mother about this?"

"Let me take it again, just you and me, nobody around us. I can do it right here, right now."

Mrs. Williams sat back, surprised. "What?"

"You heard me. I didn't cheat and I can prove it. Ask me anything you want about the assignment. I can write it or tell you to your face. I know this stuff."

"You're denying that you cheated?"

"That's what I'm saying, yeah. I studied. I didn't cheat. I'm not a cheater." He had to bite his bottom lip not to name at least five students who did cheat like crazy and on a regular basis, but never got caught. That was between them and Mrs. Williams.

Her conviction a bit shaken, she hedged. "You've said you studied hard before, but you've never made an A on a quiz before. So what's different this time?"

Duck sighed heavily, his anger still there, but not raging, not making him see red through his eyeballs. "A friend came over last night for supper and we studied together."

Mrs. Williams paused a moment and pursed her lips as she considered the possibility that she'd fucked up. Then she picked up the quiz paper and pen. She remarked it to the original score and handed it to him. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. We'll have another quiz on Monday. I'll have my eye on you and we'll see how well you do then."

No sorry, not a word of apology, but she at least gave him the quiz and another chance to prove himself. He wanted to ball the paper up and throw it in her face. Instead, he took it and asked, "Could I have a note to the next class? If I'm tardy, I get detention."

Reluctantly, she wrote out the pass and handed it to him. As he turned, she spoke to his back. "Don't make me regret this."

Duck kept walking, gripping his books, knowing that if he stopped and said anything, he'd be expelled for more than cheating.

Duck made it through the rest of the school day without blowing his top, but just barely. It seemed like everything anybody did or said, he wanted to knock their stupid teeth down their throats. He had no idea what any of his lessons were, not after Mrs. Williams treated him like he was some kind of lowlife cheater. He kept replaying the whole thing over in his head, only in the replays he didn't control himself. In his thoughts, he did terrible things, things that made him ashamed of himself for even thinking about. Sometimes he scared himself with the violent shit that played around in his head.

On top of that Buddy ignored him except for occasional glances, so it was pretty much business as usual on that front. Sure, they could be best friends and buds alone at his place, but out in the open, he might as well have been that Hester Prynne lady, an outcast, somebody nobody talked to or wanted to have anything to do with in public.

Sandra waited by his locker, frowning. He didn't want to talk to her right then, but he didn't want to carry all his books home for the weekend, either. When he didn't say anything as he opened his locker, she spoke first, her voice soft and gentle. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Come on. You've been upset since third period and you didn't meet me for lunch."

Duck had spent the time in the supply room behind the art class, working like hell to get his temper under control. Mr. Whitehouse never minded when he spent the time in there alone, working on a project. He never told Sandra that, though, because she might want to join him. Sometimes he just had to be alone to get his head straight, and Sandra just never understood that. "I wasn't hungry."

"So where'd you go?"

"Doesn't matter." He put his books in the locker except for his English and his math. "I have to go."

Sandra grabbed his arm and squeezed. "Did I do something to piss you off? If I did, I'm sorry."

Duck stopped then, and met her pleading eyes. He realized that being an arsehole to Sandra wouldn't solve anything and it wasn't fair, either. His tongue stumbled over the words. "It's not you. It's me. I'm just in a shitty mood, that's all."

"That time of the month?"

"Not funny."

"Sorry. Look, you want to just go hang out, maybe go to a movie tonight, just me and you?"

"I'm tired. I thought I'd just go home. Besides, you've got a date with Jimmy."

"Fuck Jimmy. This has nothing to do with Jimmy. This is you and me, Duck." She paused and whispered, "Does this have anything to do with what we talked about yesterday? Are you mad about that?"

Weary, worn out from the anger that had battered his heart all day, Duck shook his head and then patted Sandra's cheek gently. She had a warm heart and good intentions, but she was worse than a dog with a bone sometimes, never giving up. He just didn't have enough energy to deal with that. "No, it's got nothing to do with you. I don't want to talk about it, so just let me go home, okay?"

"You sure it's not me?"

"I'm sure. Go home. Have a good time with Jimmy. Just make sure he wears a rubber, okay?"

Sandra paused and then reluctantly nodded. "Okay, but call me if you want to talk. Maybe we can do something this weekend."

"I'm supposed to work with Dad this weekend. We've got two rooms to paint for old man Forrester. Plus, he wants some new kitchen cabinets. Dad wants me to learn how to do the measuring and layouts."

"Your dad treats you like a slave sometimes. You go to school all week. You should get time off like everybody else."

It was an old argument, one Duck didn't feel like repeating. "Look, I have to go."

Reluctantly, she accepted the dismissal. "Call me." Then she turned and walked away, heading off down the hallway to no doubt track down Deena Mills and talk about what a shit he was. He didn't really care, not today, because today it was the truth.

99999999

At home he didn't bother to say hello to his mum, just went straight to the garage and to his room. He shut and locked the door before he threw his books and coat on the bed. Running a shaky hand through his blond hair, he stepped to the window and stared out at the Watch, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

The winter storm made the sky all grey and flat, clouds like long, black fingers, the ocean dark and rough. A guy could just walk into that sea and never be heard of again if he wanted. Sometimes Duck wanted to do that more than anything else in the world. He'd rather be dead than be gay, to be so fucking different and such a huge disappointment to everyone around him except for his mum. If it weren't for her, he'd have buried himself in the sea a long time ago, probably after the first time he jerked off thinking about Buddy French instead of some movie star with big tits.

Duck closed his eyes, his head pounding from no sleep, no food, and way too much anger balled into one. He took a deep breath and turned on the radio beside his bed. Hank Williams's voice filled his room with the saddest voice on the planet. Duck turned it right off. No way he could handle Hank's "I'm So Lonesome I Could Die" today.

Slumping on the edge of the bed, he took off his shoes and then lay back, his eyes closed again, fighting the sting in his eyes. He hated his life sometimes, hated it, hated it almost as much as he hated himself for being such a stupid son of a bitch who couldn't read worth shit and stuttered like the town idiot.

A knock and his mother's voice interrupted his pity party. "Walter? Are you all right?"

He didn't get up, but he cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. "I'm taking a nap, Mum."

She waited and then asked, "Could we talk first?"

"Mum-"

"Please, just for a minute. Then I'll leave you be."

Reluctantly, Duck got up and took a couple of deep breaths to pull himself together. He didn't want to upset his mum and she had the uncanny knack of reading him faster than he could hide it. He unlocked the door and stepped back. She came in, her face worried. "You didn't come inside and let me know you were home."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're upset."

Duck avoided her prying eyes and sat back down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward as she moved to sit across from him. "I didn't sleep much last night and it was a hard day at school. We had a lot of work."

Her eyes moved from him to the painting of Buddy. She studied it several moments before she asked, "Is this the art project that kept you up most of the night?"

"Yeah. I'm doing a portrait for his mum's birthday."

"Is that why he came by, to have you paint a picture of him for his mother?"

"Partly, yeah."

"He was here for quite a while, Walter. Are you two friends now?"

"I've known Buddy since grade school, Mum."

"I know that, dear. I'm just asking if you're friends now and not just acquaintances, that's all."

"Look, I'm tired, Mum. I'm sorry I didn't say hi when I got home."

Sighing heavily, she leaned in a little closer, her voice soft and sincere. "Don't worry about that. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything, Walter, anything."

Duck didn't know what his mum really wanted to say, but he sure wasn't in the mood to talk about Buddy with his mum, not now, not ever. "I've got nothing to talk about, Mum."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm just going to sack out a while. Buddy's coming over again tonight. We're studying for English together while I finish the painting."

His mother sat back, disappointment in her eyes, but she let the whole business about spilling his guts drop. "Is he coming for supper?"

"No, later. He didn't want to put you out."

"He's welcome anytime, Walter, anytime. That goes for any of your friends." She stood up and walked to the door. "I'll let you get some rest before supper."

"Thanks, Mum."

She hesitated, biting her lower lip like she did when she really wanted to say something but didn't know quite how to do it. Normally, he'd prompt her, get her to talk, but right then, at that moment, all he wanted was for her to drop it and leave. "I guess I'll go get supper started then. Your father's going to be late tonight."

"Working on the Forrester place?"

"The Montgomery's." Once again she stared at him, her eyes filled with something Duck couldn't fathom, couldn't quite read. Finally, she said, "I'll call you for dinner around six."

"Okay."

"It's an excellent painting, by the way, very lifelike."

Duck looked away from his mum and studied the picture of Buddy. It wasn't quite done, but well on it's way after a marathon session last night. He was pleased with how it turned out. "Thanks."

"But it doesn't look like the kind of painting for a mother."

Surprised, Duck turned back to his mum. She never ever criticized his work. "What do you mean?"

"Buddy's a handsome young man, there's no doubt about that, but-"

"But what? What's wrong with it?"

"There's nothing wrong with it, but mothers want their children to look like children, innocent and boyish." She motioned with her head at the painting. "His expression, the way you've drawn his body, that's anything but innocent, Walter, and that's okay, but that's not something he'd want to give to his mother. More likely he'd give it to his girlfriend."

Cheeks burning, Duck didn't meet his mum's gaze. Fuck, he hadn't thought about that, hadn't realized he'd revealed so much about his own feelings. His words came out defensive. "That's how he looks."

"To you, yes, but not to his mother."

Duck closed his eyes with the deep, heart-sinking realization that his mother knew the truth, something he'd never wanted to admit, but recently suspected. "You saying I should paint another one?"

"I think that would be wise, but that's up to you and Buddy, Walter. I'm sure he'll be pleased with it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Don't get me wrong, Buddy's a lovely boy, and I don't want to sound mean or judgmental, but there are plenty of heart-broken young girls in Wilby who believed him to be serious about his intentions when all he really wanted was a fling. Young love isn't always kind."

"That's not his fault. He's popular, that's all."

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Walter."

Duck didn't say anything, couldn't form the words. Instead, he sat statue still, his head down and his arms crossed, hoping his mum would leave him alone to wallow in his own misery. After a few seconds, she did just that, closing the door with a click behind her.

In the quiet Duck whispered, "Too late, Mum, way too late."

Duck stood up slowly and walked over to the picture of Buddy. No way could he sleep now. He studied the painting long and hard and realized exactly what his mum meant. It was a great painting, probably the best thing he'd ever done, but it revealed a Buddy that no mother would want to see. He looked sexy, hot even, like some young pinup from the magazines Duck kept hidden under his bed. Sure, Buddy had clothes on, but his expression, well, it was inviting and shameless, the way Duck saw him in his dreams.

Duck ran his thumb along his lower lip and then shook his head with a heavy sigh. "Fuck." He knew what he had to do before Buddy got there.

99999999

Seven o'clock came and went with no Buddy. Duck kept painting, figuring if the guy didn't show, he'd have the new piece done even faster.

At seven-thirty, the knock came.

"Come in."

Buddy opened the door, his face a red and his eyes flashing. Duck knew right off he was pissed about something. "What's wrong?"

"Don't want to talk about it. Sorry I'm late."

"No problem. What something to drink? I've got 7-UP or Coke."

"Not right now." Buddy took his coat off and threw it across the bed. Instead of sitting, he paced a few times, the tension building. Duck kept his mouth shut, figuring when Buddy was ready to talk, he would. It took about three minutes. "I hate my parents. I really fucking do."

Duck continued to paint, his own feelings suddenly calmer. Buddy needed to talk, he needed to listen. "What'd they do?"

"My father's a real prick, an honest-to-god prick. One of these days, I swear I'm going to deck his sorry ass."

Duck stopped working and cleaned some of the paint off his brush. "He and your mum have fight?"

"They usually wait until I'm not around or they think I can't hear what's going on, but I guess my mum just had enough of his shit. He said he was going to the mainland for some kind of sales meeting and she called him on it, said that she knew he was seeing Janice Martin."

Duck stopped moving and stared, his mouth slightly open. He hadn't heard that it was Mrs. Martin. Damn. He liked her and how her house always smelled clean and fresh, not moldy like some places where they worked. He'd been there plenty of times with his father because she needed a lot of repairs to the place since her husband died two years ago. If she was cheating with Buddy's dad, that just didn't seem right. He couldn't figure out why she'd do that unless she was really, really lonely, and he really hated to think that about such a nice lady. "Is your mum sure?"

"Sure she's sure. Everybody fucking knows about it. I mean, he parks the car a few blocks away, like he's fooling anybody, but then he walks to her house and spends the night when he's supposed to be on the mainland. The gossips in this town couldn't wait to tell my mum, like she needs to hear this shit."

"I'm sorry."

Buddy turned, his arms crossed and his eyes red. "What are you sorry for? You haven't done anything."

"No, but I'm still sorry. This kind of thing is hard."

"It's not hard for my father, unless you count how hard his dick is when he fucks Janice Martin."

"Shut up, Buddy."

Buddy dropped down on the bed, still angry. "Don't tell me to shut up. I can say what I want."

"I know you're pissed, yeah, but don't talk about Mrs. Martin like that. She's an okay person."

"She's fucking my dad. That's not okay."

"Maybe not. Still, that's between him and your mum."

"You saying it's not my business? That I should stay out of it?" Buddy was up and pacing again, his voice hard. "How the fuck am I supposed to do that? I live right there. I see what it does to her knowing he's fucking somebody else."

"Why doesn't she just divorce him?"

Buddy shook his head and stared at him like he was an idiot. "You're kidding, yeah? This is Wilby. You don't get divorced, not when you're a French. It's not that easy."

"What? You guys special?"

Snorting at that, Buddy sat back down and leaned forward, his head down. "You don't understand what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"It's like I'm in two worlds, Wilby and the world of French. They put on this big front for everybody to see, like they're fooling fuck all, and then in the house, it's either complete silence or all out warfare." His voice shook and then cracked. "I can't stand it much longer, Duck. I need to get out of this place, the sooner the better." He lifted his head then. "I'm thinking about going to live with my sister on the mainland."

Duck kept his voice steady despite his racing heart. "Yeah? You're going to leave your mum all alone?"

"Fuck." Buddy sat a little straighter and brushed away a tear, not daring to look in Duck's direction. "Promise not to tell anyone I said this, but I understand why he cheats. I hate him for it, but I get it."

"What do you get?"

"My mum, I love her, but she can drive a person crazy sometimes. Nothing's ever enough. Nobody's good enough. She's the most negative and controlling person I've ever met."

"But she's your mum."

"Yeah, I know, and she's sick. She can't help herself sometimes."

After a long silence, Duck cleared his throat, wanting to change the subject. "Did you get to eat?"

Buddy shrugged. "No. They were too busy fighting to worry about shit like that."

"Why don't I ask Mum to warm up some supper?"

The other boy hesitated and then nodded. "Thanks. What'd you guys have tonight?"

"Salmon croquettes with some scalloped potatoes and green beans. She made a pecan pie, too."

"God, that sounds good. I'm starving."

Duck stood up, putting his paint brush down on his workbench. "Come on then. You'll eat and then we'll study if you still want to."

"You sure it's okay?"

"My mum loves to cook for people, and I don't eat much. You're doing her a favor."

Relaxing some, Buddy nodded and fell into step behind Duck as they left his room. "I envy you sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Your life's so simple."

Duck stopped and turned, not sure if he'd heard right. "Simple?"

"Yeah. I mean, your parents get along, yeah? You don't have to be a big shot or put on a brave face. You're just Duck."

Snorting at how fucking wrong Buddy could be, Duck shook his head, his voice snide and full of acid as he walked again. "Yeah, that's me, just Duck, the simple guy with the simple life. No secrets, no lies, what you see is what you get."

Buddy grabbed his arm and turned him around. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to piss you off. What'd I say?"

"Nothing."

Buddy didn't let go. "I'm serious. What'd I say?"

Duck tried not to explode, but after such a shitty day, the words spilled out. "You've got no fucking clue about other people. You're all wrapped up in your own little world, Buddy's world, like you're the only fucking guy in the world with problems. Newsflash, everybody's got shit to deal with, not just Buddy Fucking French."

Instead of being mad or insulted, Buddy studied him intently. "Yeah, like what? What are you dealing with Duck?"

His anger not quite the fist in his belly anymore, Duck shook his head. "Nothing."

"Or at least nothing you want to talk about, yeah?"

Duck kept his eyes lowered, way too tempted to say more. He pulled away and walked towards the garage door to go to the house. "Let's go eat, Buddy."

A few steps behind him, Buddy followed, suddenly a lot more quiet and thoughtful, not like Buddy at all.

99999999

Back in Duck's room a little while later, they smoked in an easy quiet. Duck usually preferred being alone, but with Buddy it was different. He didn't mind the company and it wasn't just because of the great view he got when Buddy puffed on a cigarette, either. There was just this connection between them that Duck couldn't explain and didn't want to look at too closely. That might make him careless, and he couldn't afford that.

Buddy made himself at home, sitting back on Duck's bed with his shoes off, propped against the headboard as he finished off his smoke. Finally, he broke the silence. "You know if I came around here enough, I'd weigh about 300 pounds."

Duck chuckled and agreed. "Well, if you kept eating like you did tonight, yeah, probably."

"What can I say? I like good food. Maybe if I got it more often, I wouldn't pig out so much. Who knows? I don't want to be a porker though, so I guess I'd better control myself."

"You'd never be fat, Buddy. You work out."

"Yeah, I do, but I'm not lucky like you, Mr. Skin and Bones, never gain an ounce. I wish I could do that, eat all I want and not gain weight."

Duck finished off his cigarette and lit another one right behind it. He waited a few moments before he spoke. "It's funny."

"What?"

"How we always seem to want what we don't have. Like you think it's great that I'm skinny, but me, I'd rather be built like you."

"Me? That'd be dumb. You'd have to work out just to keep the weight off. I have to run and do weights just to stay in shape. You, well, I don't think I've ever seen you in the gym except when we have assemblies."

"Doesn't mean I don't work out. You ever frame up a building, put on a new roof, or do a paint job on a two-story? Do that a few times and you'll find muscles you never knew you had."

Buddy chuckled. "Yeah, I'll bet. Now that I think about it, I saw you working with your old man last summer. You threw that huge ladder on the truck like it weighed about two pounds, when I know for a fact those fuckers are heavy."

Duck took the compliment in stride this time. He couldn't really be too proud of just doing what he'd been doing since he was a kid, working on houses. "You get used to it."

Buddy's expression got more serious. "So, you planning on doing that when you graduate, do what your dad does?"

Duck sipped his 7-UP while he considered the question. "I guess."

Buddy threw his legs off the side of the bed and sat up. "You're not going to college?"

"No. You?"

"Come on, Duck. You've got to want to get out of this hellhole. I know as soon as I can, I'm out of here."

"I like Wilby."

"You always were strange, but I never thought you were crazy." Duck stiffened, but Buddy kept talking. "Look, I overheard Mr. Whitehouse talking to Mrs. Dotson. He was saying how good you were, how you might even win a scholarship. I mean, if it's money, there's your ticket. You could go to college and be a famous artist someday. You're good enough."

Sighing heavily, Duck finished off his drink and reached for another soda. "It's not the money."

"Then what? You afraid you might fail?"

"No."

"Then what? I don't get it. If I had your talent, I'd be gone in a flash, so long, Wilby."

"That's you, not me."

"Well, yeah, but-"

Suddenly angry again, Duck snapped, "Think about it. Colleges don't let you just paint. They make you take all that other shit, too, math and English. I can't pass a fucking high school class without help. What do you think would happen if I went off to some mainland college?"

Buddy's mouth opened, but then he closed it. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't even think about that."

"It's not that I don't think I could do it. It's just that I'm not interested in all that other stuff. I just want to paint and keep doing what I'm doing. I like building and fixing things. I'm good at it and people need it. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not the first time I've had this discussion."

"Oh, yeah?" Buddy held up a finger, pretending to think really hard. "Let me guess, Sandra Anderson, right?"

"Right."

"She wants you to leave, too, yeah?"

"She hates it here."

"I would, too, if I were her."

Duck stopped and stared at Buddy before he snapped, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Duck, I know she's your girl and everything, but, well, you know how it is. People talk."

"People talk shit."

Buddy didn't deny it. Instead, his voice softened. "Look, I know you two are kind of dating, or something, whatever you call it, but you should know about her and Jimmy Channing."

"I know about her and Jimmy."

"You do?"

Duck took a deep, calming breath. He didn't want to get into this with Buddy, but it looked like he needed to clear up a few things. "Sandra and I are just friends. She can date who she wants."

"So, you're not going steady or anything?"

"No, so she's not cheating on me."

Buddy actually nodded and grinned in relief. "That's good to know. I figured you knew she was sleeping around, have to be blind not to, but I-"

"What'd I say about talking about her like that?"

"Sorry. No offense."

Suddenly angry again, Duck threw a low blow. "You've got a lot of damn nerve talking about people sleeping around."

Buddy had the decency to blush. "That's different."

"How's it different? You sleep around and you're some kind of Casanova, the heartbreaker of Wilby. A girl does it and she's a slut. How's that fair?"

Scratching his head, Buddy shrugged. "That's just the way it is."

"The way it is sucks."

"I agree. It's just-"

"Just what?"

"Well, fair or not, Sandra's got a rep. You hang around with her like you do, people think you're fucking her."

Duck stood and took a few steps closer, his words tough as he got in Buddy's face, fist clenched. "Say that again and it'll be the last time."

Buddy didn't flinch, didn't even pull back. "I won't."

Slowly, Duck relaxed and sat back down. "I hate when people talk about her. They don't have the right. They don't know shit about her."

"I know. I saw the way you busted Shane Hawkins last year for saying something stupid. The guy couldn't talk for a week. It's funny, though."

"What, me busting Shane's lip open?"

"No, not that. You never fight back when people say shit about you, but somebody says a word about Sandra and you're her defender."

Duck crossed his arms, defensive, wondering what the fuck Buddy meant. "So?"

"So, nothing. I just think it's strange, that's all."

"What's so strange about defending my friend?"

"But not yourself."

"I don't need defending. I don't give a shit what people think about me, never have, never will."

Buddy met his defiant gaze and for once Duck didn't look away and didn't want to. "I wish I could be that way."

"You do a lot of wishing, Buddy."

"Yeah, I do." Buddy sat there a few extra beats before he finally changed the subject and asked, "You ever going to tell me what happened after class today?"

Here it came, the conversation Duck dreaded. "Nothing to tell."

"Come on. Mrs. Williams held you after class and then you acted like you wanted to kill somebody."

"That why you didn't say shit to me the rest of the day?"

Instead of answering his question about being ignored, Buddy insisted Duck tell him about it. "Tell me what the fuck happened."

Duck took several long breaths before he managed the words. "She accused me of cheating."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, well, once I calmed down, I could see her side. I've never made an A on a quiz in my life."

"You made an A?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Same thing. That's great. Still, she had no business accusing you like that, not when half the class is cheating right under her big, fat nose."

"I told her I'd take the quiz again, but she gave me the benefit of the doubt. Fuck her. I'll ace the next one, too."

"Damn straight." Buddy ran a hand through his hair, more anxious than nervous. "I wish I had a drink before we get started studying that shit again, though."

"I've got Coke or 7-UP."

"I was thinking more like a beer."

Duck knew he shouldn't, but he leaned in a bit, his hands together. "I don't have beer, but I've got some Smirnoff."

"Vodka?"

"And some rum."

"You're shitting me. You've got real booze?"

"Yeah."

His voice hushed, Buddy whispered, "Where'd you get it?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, but I just never expected you to have anything."

Duck went over to his work cabinet and pulled out a drawer at the bottom. He took out two of the bottles he'd bribed Ollie Crane to buy for him last week. "Which one you want?"

"Fuck a duck, Duck. You never cease to surprise me. Give me rum and Coke."

"Coming up."

Duck went over and locked his door before mixing the rum half and half with a fresh Coke from the fridge. Then he handed it to Buddy and fixed himself the vodka with the 7-UP he'd already opened. As he sat down, Buddy held his drink up like a toast. "To Friday nights with a friend, yeah?"

Smiling, Duck clicked his drink against Buddy's. "Friends."

99999999

Buddy French didn't handle booze any better than he did his parents fighting. His words slurred as he tried to read the complicated, twisty sentences in the novel. Finally, he put the book down and rubbed his eyes. "I think I need glasses."

"Glasses?"

"Yeah, I can't see worth shit."

Chuckling, Duck finished off his own drink, his third in the last couple of hours. He had a really nice buzz going, his body relaxed and his mind free to work on the painting. His hand didn't quite work as well as his brain though. "You don't need glasses, Buddy. You need to sober up."

"You think I'm drunk?"

"Oh, yeah."

Buddy stared at him with glazed eyes and then giggled. "Yeah, I sort of am. Feels good, too." He stood up, but had to steady himself against the bedpost. "I need to pee."

"You know where the bathroom is."

"All righty then."

Duck watched as Buddy half staggered, half stumbled to the bathroom, all the while laughing to himself for no apparent reason. When he closed the door, Duck cleaned up his brushes for the night. He sat down in his chair, noticing the room spinning a little bit. Letting out a long breath, he realized that Hester and her troubles would have to wait another day or two. He also figured his dad would be pissed in the morning if he didn't get some rest soon. Working with no sleep and a hangover sucked. He'd done it before and nearly killed himself falling off the second story of old Mr. Henderson's house last spring. He'd been more careful since then, usually only drinking when he knew he didn't have to work with his dad the next day. He'd made an exception for Buddy, though, and hoped he didn't live to regret it.

The flushing announced Buddy's return. He fumbled at zipping up and then slumped on the end of the bed, holding on to the tall bedpost of the footboard with both hands. A groan replaced his giggle. "I don't feel so hot."

"You can't go home like this."

"My mum will kill me if I come home drunk."

Duck shrugged and then did something totally stupid. "Stay here for the night. I've got a sleeping bag. You take the bed."

Buddy's bloodshot eyes met his. "You sure?"

"Why not? We're friends, yeah?"

"All right, okay, but I have to call my mum first. She worries."

"She's going to know you're shit-faced if you call. I'll have my mum call."

"You sure? She won't mind?"

"No, she won't mind. She likes you."

Buddy smiled a big, dopey smile. "Yeah, I think she does. She feeds me pretty good, too." At the talk of food, Buddy's smile vanished, replaced by a sudden panic, one hand over his mouth, the other across his stomach. "Shit." He ran for the bathroom and fell to his knees as he got sick. The loud retching went on for several minutes, followed by a hell of a stench. Jesus. Despite the bad weather, Duck opened a window to air the place out. Fuck.

Duck called inside the house and his mother picked up the line. "Mum?"

"It's late, Walter. What's wrong?"

"It's Buddy. He's not feeling too good. Must have been the salmon. Could you call his mum and let her know he's sleeping over?"

A long pause came before she finally answered, "I'll do that. Does he need anything? I've got some aspirin and Pepto."

"He'll be okay. He's just been sick, so I figure it's probably out of his system. He just needs to sleep."

"Walter..."

"Yeah, Mum?"

Her heavy sigh said a lot more than words. She wanted to trust him, for him to trust himself, but she couldn't say that, would never say that. Instead, she reminded him of something else. "Remember your father will be ready to leave by seven."

"I know. Don't worry. I'll be ready."

"Sleep well then. Good night."

"Thanks, Mum."

Buddy groaned and slumped on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. His pale, near green complexion told Duck all he needed to know about how his friend was feeling. "Get undressed and under the covers. I'll get the sleeping bag."

"I feel awful."

"You look awful, too."

Buddy lifted his head. "Must have been something I ate."

"Yeah, right. Must have been. Now, let's get some sleep. I've got to be up by six-thirty. I'm working with my dad tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Yeah, I know, but some people still have to work for a living. Now, get comfortable and crash."

"The room's spinning." Buddy's face paled more and he raced back to the toilet again. Duck sighed. It was going to be a really long night.

 

9999999

Duck rolled over in his sleeping bag, not quite sure what woke him. He suddenly realized he was looking at somebody's bare feet, the toes pointed straight at him. He lifted his head and saw Buddy standing by the easel, staring at his own portrait. It was still dark, with only a little moonlight steaming in the window. Shit. "Buddy?"

"Didn't mean to wake you." The raspy voice didn't sound like his friend.

"You okay?"

"Considering I made an ass out of myself earlier, yeah, pretty much."

Duck sat up and rubbed his eyes. He had a nagging headache and his mouth tasted all cottony, but he'd had worse, a lot worse. He swallowed hard to gather more spit as he watched a near naked Buddy reach out to touch the painting. "Don't. It's still wet."

Buddy's hand stopped moving. "Oils, right?"

"Yeah. Now, go back bed, Buddy. It's the middle of the night."

"I was freezing. I had to close the window."

"Yeah, well, I needed to breathe."

"Sorry."

"Not a problem. Everybody gets sick sometimes."

Buddy cocked his head sideways as he studied the picture one more time and then stepped over Duck to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled the quilt up over his shoulders. Dressed only in a T-shirt and jockey shorts, he couldn't be warm. "You've got a lot of pictures of me."

Fuck. "What are you talking about?"

"I looked around, and there's like a dozen paintings of just me. You've got them turned toward the wall, like you're hiding them or something."

"I'm not hiding them."

"No?"

"No, I just do a lot of paintings. It's called doing a study."

"A study, huh? Like all the pictures you've got of the Watch, that's a study?"

"Yeah."

Duck lay back and brought the edge of the sleeping bag up to his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Buddy bought that. "Go back to bed, Buddy. You're still half wasted."

"No, I'm not. I mean, I might still be a little in the bag, but not completely. I like the paintings, Duck. Is that conceited, to like looking at paintings of yourself like that?"

"If I looked like you, I'd like looking at myself, too." Duck couldn't believe he said that, not out loud anyway. He rolled on his side, his back to Buddy.

He heard a whispered, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You like the way I look?"

"Everybody likes the way you look, Buddy." The other teen slipped to the floor behind him. Duck's breath caught and he cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

A hand settled on Duck's shoulder. "I like you, too."

Duck could hardly breathe, had no fucking idea what he'd do if Buddy's hand suddenly moved anywhere else. "You need to go back to bed now."

"I'm more than what I look like, Duck. I know people just see me and think, there's Buddy fucking perfect, but it's not true."

"Nobody thinks that. We know you're not perfect."

Buddy kept whispering, like he hadn't heard a word. "I wonder what people would do if I didn't look like this, if I just looked like everybody else? Would they like me anyway?"

Duck bit his lower lip and turned over. He lay facing Buddy, his friend's hand still on his shoulder. "What you have to ask yourself, Buddy, is, would you still like yourself?"

Big blue eyes stared down at him, kind of bloodshot, but also kind of watery. The words came out choked. "That's a good question. To be honest, I don't know if I would."

"Then maybe you should do something to change that."

"Yeah? How do I start?"

Duck sighed heavily, knowing that what he said at that moment might change things between them, but he said them anyway. "Look, we've known each other since grade school. I know you better than you think. You treat people decent, better than most folk. You're honest most of the time. The only lies you tell are mostly little white ones so you don't hurt people's feelings. Your only big flaw is that you don't always treat girls the way you'd like to be treated. Other than that, you're a pretty good guy."

"A pretty good guy, huh?"

"Yeah, I'd say so."

"Thanks." Buddy paused and then pulled his hand away from Duck's shoulder. He rubbed his eyes with his balled fists. Slowly, he got up and sat on the edge of the bed. "Why don't you get up off the floor and sleep in the bed? It's warmer."

Duck prayed for strength as he rolled over on his side again away from temptation. "I'm fine."

"I'm serious, Duck. It's cold. I promise not to bite."

"Go to sleep, Buddy. I'm tired."

Hesitating, Buddy slipped back under the covers, his head on the pillow as he stared down at Duck. "You're right about one thing. I don't treat girls the way I want to be treated. That's pretty scummy."

Duck closed his eyes, kept them closed, working like crazy to keep breathing and his dick from getting any harder. He wished Buddy would just go back to sleep and be quiet, but, of course, he wasn't quite finished. He should've known Buddy was a talker even when he should've been sleeping. "The thing is, I don't get girls. It's like we don't talk the same language sometimes. I mean, I like messing around, making out, you know, but when it comes to just talking, it's not like it is with us. You and me, we talk." When Duck didn't say anything, Buddy added the question of a lifetime, something Duck always wondered himself. "Why can't girls be more like guys, except for the curves and stuff?"

"I don't know, but if you don't go to sleep, I'm going to have to pop ya."

Buddy chuckled into his pillow and then pulled up the covers. "Night, Duck."

"Night, Buddy."

Duck kept his eyes closed, but sleep never came, not right then, and definitely not when Buddy started snoring a few minutes later.

999999999

Duck left Buddy sleeping like the dead in his bed, slipping out, careful not to wake him. He also left a big glass of water, some aspirin, and a note on the bedside table. He told Buddy he'd catch up with him later. Duck figured by the time he got home, Buddy'd be long gone, but he hoped he'd come back Sunday. They needed to finish the rest of the assignment and he sure as hell didn't want to fail the quiz on Monday and make Mrs. Williams think he'd really cheated. More than that, he just wanted to spend more time with Buddy. He kind of liked the new guy, the guy who told him personal stuff about how he was really feeling. He wanted to know that guy a lot better than the one he'd grown up with. Duck wanted other things, too, but he'd settle for the new level of friendship instead of what he knew he'd never have.

Later that day, Duck realized that the best thing about working with his dad was that his old man talked even less than he did. He didn't have to worry about any conversational lapses or awkward silences, because his father just never bothered to say much unless it related to the job. Duck wondered if that was why he was so easy with being quiet himself, if it was like some kind of genetic thing like having the same blue eyes or chin.

When they finished painting the first room, his father called a break for lunch. During the warm months, they sat outside, just eating a sandwich and drinking pop before getting back to work. Winter made that impractical, so they sat inside with the fumes until it was time for a smoke. Then they braved the cold and stood side-by-side, taking long drags that had to last them through the rest of the day. Duck was nearly down to the filter when his father surprised him with a question. "So, you and Buddy French are friends now, yeah?"

Duck choked on his own smoke. His dad never asked him about his friends or his life, just his work sometimes. He cleared his throat. "We're studying together, yeah."

"Studying what?"

"English."

His dad took the information with a nod. "You think he'll help you get your grade up?"

"Hope so. Couldn't get much worse."

"Your mother said he's having you do a painting for his mum. That so?"

"Yeah."

"Good. She'll like that."

Duck stared at his father, more confused than anything. His old man never said shit like that. For lack of anything else to say, Duck added, "It's for her birthday next month."

"I know."

"You know?"

His father shrugged and finished his cigarette, dropped it on the frozen ground, and crushed it with the heel of his heavy boot. "Best get back to work, son. You start the cutting in and I'll finish the clean up in the other room."

Duck couldn't just let it go. He had to know. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you know it's Buddy's mum's birthday next month?"

His father paused, not looking at him as he spoke quietly. "I grew up with his mother. We were friends for a bit."

"Friends?"

His father sighed heavily and then stood up straighter, adjusting the straps on his coveralls. He still didn't make eye contact. "I dated her before your mother."

Duck's mouth fell open. He'd never really thought about his father with anyone but his mum and the idea of his dad dating Buddy's mum gave him the shivers. Creepy as it was, he still had to ask. "So what happened?"

"I met your mum."

"Yeah? That was it?"

His father's gaze finally locked with his. "I love your mother, Walter. I don't say it enough, or show it enough, but I do."

"I know that."

"And I love you, too, son, no matter what." He paused and then added, "Buddy's a nice boy."

Duck stood stock still, afraid to breathe, afraid that if he moved a muscle that the moment might not be real. He didn't speak, couldn't say a word. He didn't have to. His father knew that Duck knew what he meant. Handing him a brush, his dad patted him on the shoulder. "Time to get back to work, son. We need to finish before dark. We'll lay out the cabinets next weekend."

His dad left to clean up the other room and Duck stood there, still shocked, still wondering how he ever feared that his folks would hate him if they knew the truth. Shaking himself all over, he ran a hand through his hair and smiled. He might not be rich or popular, but he sure lucked out in the parent department. Even if he and father fought sometimes, he knew it'd never be about who he loved or wanted to be with. Of course, he still had to deal with the rest of the world and the bigots in Wilby, but somehow that didn't seem as hard as before. Grateful as hell, he relaxed and headed back inside to work next to his old man, the man whose footsteps he planned to follow.

999999999

Once finished for the day, Duck went to his room and showered, washing and scrubbing the best he could. He always seemed to find paint spots stuck to his skin later, but it never really bothered him that much. Painting a wall, painting a portrait, it all worked for him, calmed him deep down where it mattered.

After eating supper, he worked on Buddy's portrait, figuring he'd try to finish it before Buddy got back. He'd just started working in some green into the background when the knock came. He called out, thinking it might be his mum. "It's not locked."

"Good to know." Buddy came in carrying a package under his right arm, his face still a little pale from the night before.

"Buddy?"

"Yeah? You expecting somebody else?"

"I wasn't expecting anybody. It's Saturday night. I figured you'd be out with Debbie."

Buddy put the package on the desk and took off his coat. "Debbie and I broke up."

"Yeah? When'd that happen?"

"This afternoon." Duck didn't ask for the details. He figured if Buddy wanted to tell him, he would, and he did. "We just didn't have much in common." Buddy sat down on the bed and shook his head. "Girls, I just don't get what they want."

"What did she say she wanted?"

"More time, more attention, which in her world means every waking minute. I couldn't fucking breathe. I told her we needed to have our own time away from each other, too, and she told me to drop dead."

"Drop dead?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

Duck put his brush down and moved to sit across from his friend. "You'll find somebody else."

"I know." Buddy looked up and smiled that little crooked smile he had. "It's not a big deal, really."

Not sure what to say, Duck opted for offering a drink. "You thirsty?"

Buddy snorted and shook his head. "Coke, yeah, no rum. I don't think I want to see another bottle for a while. I haven't been that sick in long time."

"It happens."

"I don't drink much."

Duck handed him the Coke. "I figured."

"What about you? You drink a lot?"

"What's a lot?"

"You tell me."

Uncomfortable with the subject, Duck shrugged and crossed his arms. "I drink to relax sometimes, but not every night."

"I was surprised you had the booze."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I mean, it's illegal and your mum's kind of straight-laced."

"My mum's my mum. I'm me. Besides, a lot of kids drink, you, for example."

"I know. I'm a lousy drunk though. I like beer better than real booze."

"Beer is real booze."

"You know what I mean, the hard stuff. You drank it like water."

"So? What's your point?" Duck's neck muscles tightened.

"No point. It was just an observation."

Duck pinched his nose, suddenly really tired of the conversation. "So, why are you here?"

Buddy brightened. "We've still got a book to finish. I don't know about you, but I remember squat about what we read last night after we started guzzling like a couple of boozehounds. I think we need to do that part again. Plus, I got a brainstorm."

"A brainstorm?"

"Yeah, here." Buddy handed him the package and motioned for him to open it.

Duck hesitated. "What is it?"

"Open it and see."

Reluctantly, Duck pulled apart the seams of the brown wrapping paper, wanting to save it for sketching. Inside he found a box with a cassette player and some tapes. "What's this?"

"I bought you the book on tape. I figure you can listen while I'm not here."

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes stung. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. Besides, I already had the player and I never use it, so it might as well go to a good cause. I found the tapes this afternoon at the bookstore. They've got a whole supply of books on tape, especially the classics. I'm willing to bet you're not the only one who does better listening to that shit than just reading it. Anyway, I checked and they've got all the books we're supposed to read this semester. Reading problem solved. You just buy the tapes."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Duck held the player and tapes, just looking at them, not sure what to do or what to think. Nobody but Sandra and his parents ever really bought him anything or thought about things to make his life easier. Unsettled by the unexpected kindness, he had no idea how to react. Buddy solved that for him. "Hey, how about I read and you paint?"

Nodding, Duck stood up and went back to the easel, picking up his brush, while Buddy opened the book, reading about how that prick Chillingworth was sneaking around, spying on Dimmesdale and how the preacher suffered with his own heavy secrets.

99999999

Four hours later, his voice worn out and husky, Buddy stopped. "I can't read any more tonight."

"Then don't."

Buddy closed the book and sighed heavily as he rubbed his eyes. "You through with that thing yet?"

"Just about. I'll put some finishing touches on it tomorrow, but for tonight, I'm finished."

"You know, it's weird."

"What is?"

"How many guys would sit around on a Saturday night reading out loud and painting?"

"Who cares? I like painting." Duck hesitated before he added, "I like listening to you read, too. It makes it seem real, like I can see the pictures in my head of what they're doing and saying. I could never do that if I read it to myself."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's good then. I mean, not that you can't read it yourself and enjoy it, but that I can help."

Duck worked on his brushes and Buddy sat up a little straighter, stretching his arms out over his head. "Guess I should take off."

Not ready for Buddy to be gone, Duck asked, "What'd your mum say about you staying over last night?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

"Surprised me, too. She usually hounds me to death with questions, but she just said that was fine. I think she likes you."

"She doesn't know me."

"Maybe not, but she knows your mum and dad. They grew up together. You mum still comes over and talks to her sometimes."

Duck cocked his head, surprised. "My mum?"

"Yeah. I think they went to school together or something, at least that's why my mum told me. Anyway, I know they worked together on charity stuff before my mum got sick. My mum doesn't get many visitors anymore, but your mum, she comes by and brings us food sometimes. She's nice, your mum."

"Yeah, yeah, she is."

"So, I guess I should hit the highway."

"Sure, okay. You want to get together tomorrow sometime? We could finish this thing if we keep at it."

"Get it out of the way, you mean?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"Okay, sure. Tomorrow around two. We always have Sunday dinner around noon, that is if Mum and Dad are talking."

"We eat about that time, too. You could come over here, if you wanted."

"Naw, that's okay. I need to be there in case war breaks out. I'll come by later though. See the painting, finish the book. I'm getting a bad feeling about what's going to happen to Hester."

"You looked ahead yet to see?"

"Spoil it? No way. I like to be surprised."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but most of the classics have really bad endings. Just thought I'd warn ya."

"Thanks, but I've kind of figured that out already. No way can Hester and Dimmesdale get away and live happily ever after. The whole book's too fucking gloomy for that."

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying." Buddy stood up and put on his coat. "See you tomorrow then, yeah?"

"Yeah." Duck put out his hand before Buddy got away. "Thanks for the gift."

Buddy shook his hand and smiled broadly. "No problem. Night."

Then he headed out the door, Duck locking it behind him. Duck closed his eyes and took a deep breath, thinking if he didn't jerk off soon, he'd die, his balls all blue and corroded from wanting Buddy French to touch more than just his right hand.

9999999

Duck didn't sleep well that night. It was one thing to jerk off thinking about Buddy from a distance. It was a whole other thing to do it when Buddy expected him to act like a friend, a real friend, not just a guy he passed in the hallways at school. The guilt choked him up, but it didn't seem to stop the nearly constant hard on. Even when he slept, his body betrayed him, coming all over the fucking sheets like he was thirteen again.

Duck cleaned up his mess the next morning and spent the rest of the time doing the last touches on the portrait, the one he planned to give Buddy, not the one he still kept unfinished and turned to the wall. He'd painted only the head and shoulders, the standard look, but he had to admit the eyes came out the best, catching that little twinkle that Buddy got when he was really happy. Duck hoped Buddy's mum liked it as much as Buddy did.

After Sunday dinner, he came back to his room and stretched out on his bed, his hands behind his head. He wondered what would happen once they finished the book. Would Buddy go back to casual greetings or keep coming over? Duck wanted to believe in miracles, in the idea that Buddy really did want to be his friend for a lifetime, but deep down, he knew better. He figured as soon as Buddy got the painting or found another girl, their sessions together would be sweet history.

Buddy showed up right on time, but his hair stood up in the back, like he hadn't combed it. His red eyes betrayed the distress his voice carried. "I am so fucked."

Duck guided him to the bed, keeping a concerned hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I think Debbie's pregnant."

It took all his strength not to jerk away, to hide the shock. "How the fuck can that be? You only dated her for a few weeks."

"Apparently that's all it takes."

"You telling me you fucked her first thing and didn't use a rubber?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Buddy's grim expression scared him. He'd never seen his friend this broken up before. "We only did it a couple of times, and I never ever fuck without a rubber, honest to God, I swear."

"So, is she saying this kid is yours?"

"That's what she's saying, but-"

"But what?"

"But I'm hoping she's lying."

"Why would she lie?"

"I don't know. Maybe she likes me better than the other guys she's fucked."

Duck sat down, his head spinning with questions. "Look, first off, if you used a rubber and only did it twice, it's probably not yours. How far along is she?"

"She won't say. She was too busy crying. Shit."

"When did you talk to her?"

"This morning." His voice strained, his face full of panic, Buddy asked, "What if it is mine? What the hell am I supposed to do, Duck? I can't get married. I'm only seventeen. I'd have to quit school and work, but what the fuck can I do for a living? I'm not like you. I don't have any skills and shit. I couldn't support myself, much less a wife and kid. Jesus. I am so fucking fucked, I can't breathe."

"Calm down, Buddy. It'll be okay."

Buddy got up and paced, his voice harsh. He hadn't even taken off his coat. "You don't fucking know that." After a few trips back and forth, Buddy slumped back on the bed, his face in his hands. "I don't know what to do."

"Has she told her mum yet?"

"I don't know."

"Has she even gone to the doctor?"

"No, she's just late."

"By how much?"

"A couple of days she said."

"Days?" Duck finally took a deep breath.

"Yeah."

"Chances are she might not even be pregnant."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Just a feeling. Girls are a few days late all the time. If they've been messing around, being late can be a real mindfuck. It sucks to be a girl."

"It sucks to be a guy, too, not knowing if your whole life's over or not." Buddy finally took a couple of breaths in a row before he asked, "How come you know so much?"

"About what?"

"About girls and periods and shit? It's not like you have a sister."

"I have Sandra."

The light bulb went off in Buddy's head. "She been through this?"

"She's like a sister to me, so she tells me stuff, stuff I can't talk about, okay?"

"Okay. But you're saying this late business happens all the time and it doesn't mean anything?"

"I'm saying it happens sometimes. Sandra says just getting pissed off or stressed out can make a girl late."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's hell to wait, but most of the time, it's a false alarm. Not much you can do but wait it out."

"Fuck. My dad will kill me if she really is knocked up."

"No, he won't. He won't be happy, but he won't kill you, either. I mean, this kind of shit happens."

"Ever happen to you? You ever have a girl tell you she might be having your kid?"

"No." Duck didn't elaborate and explain how fucking unlikely that was.

Buddy rubbed his face with both hands, still looking like somebody smacked him around. After a few minutes of quiet, he sat back up and shook his head. "I can't do the reading thing today. My head's all over the place."

"That's okay. No problem."

"You sure?"

"Hey, I've got the tapes, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, you do. Thanks. Look, I'll call you if something happens and things change, but for right now I've got to worry about this mess."

"No, it's fine, Buddy. Do what you have to do. Let me know if there's something I can do."

Buddy's tongue flicked his lower lip and his voice lowered, like he was going to tell a secret. Instead, he shocked Duck with a question. "You know anything about getting an abortion?"

"What?"

"I figure, you know, you might know a name or something."

"Why would I know something like that?"

"Well, you know, with Sandra and everything."

"Shit. I don't fucking believe you sometimes."

"What? I'm just asking. Who else am I supposed to ask?"

Duck sat very still, keeping his temper in check. He'd had a lot of practice letting the anger flow right over him, over his mind, letting it go off somewhere either out in space or deep inside. "I don't know anybody and neither does Sandra. If it comes to that, though, I can find out."

"Yeah?"

"I know a guy who knows a guy. Don't ask questions."

"Got it, no questions." He smiled then, but still looked nervous as hell. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just freaking out a little."

"Go home, Buddy. I hope things work out."

"Yeah, me, too." Buddy sighed heavily, shaking his head as he left, muttering, "Why the fuck is this happening to me?"

Duck closed the door, figuring Buddy had to be one of the most self-absorbed people he'd ever known. Not once did he worry about the girl, or what she might be going through, not once did he say anything about that. Duck hoped like hell that Debbie wasn't pregnant, because if she was, it was going to seriously fuck up some lives. It was one of the first times in his life that Duck felt pretty good about wanting to fuck a guy instead of a girl.

99999999

Buddy didn't show up at school the next day and neither did Debbie. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that a whole shit load of drama still continued somewhere. It was one of the few times, Duck decided he'd rather be in school than in the middle of whatever Buddy might be going through.

Despite his concern for his friend, Duck worked to block the worry from his mind. He needed to focus and prove Mrs. Williams wrong. He aced the quiz, no problem, and by the end of the period, she'd patted him on the back with a smile and a "good job", but no apology. Not that he really expected one. Might as well expect hell to freeze over before he got that. Still, it felt pretty damn good to show her that he wasn't a cheater and that she'd been wrong. Now, he just had to keep it up. Thanks to Buddy, he had a pretty good chance even if his friend never read to him again. The tapes worked pretty well all in all, and he could listen whenever he needed.

Later in the afternoon, after he arrived home from school, Buddy came knocking, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot. "Hey, Duck."

"Buddy."

"Well, it's official."

"Shit. She's pregnant?"

"No. It was a false alarm just like you said."

Duck sighed in relief, but then asked, "So, why the long face?"

"She told her folks about it."

"And?"

"And they called mine and ratted me out. The shit hit the fan like you wouldn't believe. My mum's still bawling."

"Shit."

"I know. Dad was pissed and mad as hell, but Mum, she's going on and on about being disappointed." Buddy ran a hand through his hair and slumped on the edge of the bed. "I dodged a bullet, but it doesn't feel like it. I feel like shit. I hate disappointing my mum."

Duck pulled up a chair and sat down, his arms crossed. "Yeah, that whole disappointment thing is a bitch. My mum pulls that, too, sometimes. I'd rather she smacked me."

Buddy frowned and stared. "Your mum smacks you?"

"No, I'm just saying I'd rather she do that than say I disappointed her. It'd be easier."

"Yeah, yeah, it would."

Several seconds of silence followed and finally Duck cleared his throat. "So, what now?"

"I'm grounded."

"Yeah? So, how'd you manage to come over here?"

"I told them I needed to get some stuff for school, which isn't a lie, not exactly."

"You think they'll let you keep coming over?"

Buddy shook his head, his face grim. "Nah. My mum said after today I have to come right home. I can't go anywhere outside of school stuff for the next month. Might as well be forever."

"A month's not so bad."

"You ever been grounded that long?"

Duck shrugged. "Never been grounded."

"Never?"

"Nope. I get punished other ways, like I lose my allowance or have to do extra jobs around the house. My mum and dad, they've never restricted what I could do, not since I was twelve."

"Wow. You're lucky."

"Yeah, pretty much. But I could do without the lectures sometimes."

"Lectures, huh?"

"Yeah, but it's not so bad. I usually deserve whatever I get and then some, so I don't mind so much."

Buddy sighed heavily and scrubbed his face with both hands. "I'm really sorry about dumping all this shit in your lap."

"Not a problem."

"And I feel bad that I won't be able to help finish the book."

"I've got the tapes. They work pretty good. I aced the quiz today."

"Yeah? That's great."

Duck smiled, proud of himself. "Yeah, old lady Williams didn't apologize and eat crow, but it still felt pretty damn good."

"I'll bet."

Buddy took a deep breath and stood up. He held out a hand to shake. "It's been cool working with you, Duck."

Reluctantly, Duck got to his feet and took the outstretched hand. If he didn't know better, he'd think Buddy was leaving forever or something. "We're still friends, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure."

In his head Duck heard the but, but didn't say anything. He knew without asking that by spring things would be different. Track would start. There'd be a new girlfriend, new activities. Buddy would have better things to do than hang out with Duck MacDonald. Besides, his own dad would have him painting houses after school instead of just on weekends. Things changed, nothing he could do about it, but accept that they'd had some fun for a few days. That'd have to last him for a while, maybe forever.

Trying desperately to delay the inevitable, Duck motioned to the easel. "I finished the painting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Check it out. What do you think?"

Buddy stepped closer as Duck took off the cover sheet. His eyes widened in surprise and he smiled with approval. "Damn, it looks great. It looks better than I do."

"No, Buddy. It looks just like you do."

Buddy rubbed his chin and considered Duck's comment. "Yeah? You think I look that good?"

"Trust me, you're that good looking, and you know it, too, fathead."

Buddy laughed at the tease. "Yeah, well, thanks. My mum's going to love it."

"As much as you do?"

"Probably." Buddy motioned to the canvases lined up and facing the wall. "What about those other pictures you did for the study? You going to sell those?"

Duck pinked up a little and avoided Buddy's gaze. "No, those are private, just practice."

Buddy didn't seem to notice Duck's embarrassment. Instead, he offered, "You ever decide to sell, let me know. There are a couple I wouldn't mind having."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Buddy stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Look, I need you to keep the picture for me until it's closer to her birthday. I take it now, she's liable to see it too soon."

"Sure, no problem."

"Well, I guess I should head back to prison."

"It's not a prison, Buddy. Besides, think about how you got off lucky. No baby. That's a plus."

"That's a fact." Buddy sobered as he delivered the next bit of news. "Debbie's moving back to the mainland."

"Yeah? Because of this?"

"I guess. I don't know. She didn't really say. She was crying too hard to figure out half of what she said. Anyway, she's leaving in a couple of weeks. They already took her out of school, too. Gave some kind of doctor's excuse, mental problems or something. I know she drove me half-crazy."

"Seems like an overreaction, leaving like that."

Buddy stepped to the door. "Couldn't be too soon for me."

Duck frowned and crossed his arms, not pleased with the bad attitude. "That's harsh. You liked her enough to sleep with her."

"Funny thing, Duck, you don't have to like a girl to fuck her. She should've been more careful."

"So, this is all her fault? You and your dick had nothing to do with it?"

Buddy stared at him, frowning. "Who's side are you on, hers or mine?"

"There aren't any sides, Buddy. There's just fair."

"Fair, huh?"

"Yeah, fair. It's not fair to blame Debbie for the whole mess. It's not like she fucked herself."

Buddy didn't answer right away, just stared a little longer. Then he shook his head. "You're something else, Duck."

"Why's that?"

"Most guys wouldn't see it that way. They'd think it was all about the girl trying to catch a guy."

"I'm not most guys."

"Yeah, I know. You're different." He paused and added, "I'm surprised you don't have a girl, Duck."

"Why's that?"

"You think like one."

"Fuck you." Duck balled his fists, but kept his hands tightly stuffed under his armpits. He didn't want to end this by socking his friend in the jaw no matter how much of an ass he was.

"Don't get mad." Buddy reached out to squeeze his shoulder, but Duck pulled away. "Come on, Duck. I just meant that you're different, but that's okay. I don't mind."

Duck studied his friend and then shook his head in frustration. Buddy had no clue, no idea how really different he was. "You know you're a dick sometimes, French."

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't."

"It's just, sometimes I don't know what you're about."

"So?"

"So, it's weird. I like to think I can figure people out, but you, you're a mystery, a real puzzle."

"Don't strain your brain, Buddy. I'm not a mystery. I'm just a guy, same as you."

"A good-looking guy with talent who's got no girl. I just don't get it."

Uneasy with the turn of the conversation, Duck got defensive. "What's it to you?"

"I'm just curious. If you and Sandra aren't doing it, why don't you find somebody else? There are a lot of girls who'd love to get with you, Amy Allen for one."

"You went with Amy Allen last year."

"Yeah, which is why I know she digs you." Buddy stepped a few inches closer. "Look, I could call her and fix you up."

Fuck. Buddy must think he was the biggest loser on the planet. "Forget about it. I'll find my own dates, thanks."

"I'm just saying, she'd be easy."

"Buddy, no offense, but you're starting to piss me off. Lay off the matchmaking. I don't need it."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Sighing heavily, Buddy accepted defeat. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know. If you don't like Amy, I've got a dozen other names you might like."

Wanting to end the conversation, Duck eased his friend closer to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Buddy."

"Okay. Thanks for the picture."

"Sure. Later." With Buddy out the door, Duck closed it and then leaned back against the frame. Fucking Buddy French thought he needed a girl. One thing was for sure, Buddy French had to be blind if he thought getting a girl would make Duck happy. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Duck stepped back to the painting of his friend, stared at it and then wished with all his might that Buddy would never solve the mystery of who Duck really was, the mystery of who he really wanted. If he ever did, Duck might have to just take off and leave Wilby forever.

Moving to the window, he looked out over the Watch. Sighing heavily to himself, he wondered for the first time what it would be like to live in a world where he didn't have to worry about people finding out he liked men. He wondered if maybe Sandra was right after all. Maybe he should consider leaving the island and going to the city, finding some kind of life beyond the cocoon of a place where the ideal of live and let live just didn't exist.

Suddenly weary, his chest ached with wanting what he knew he'd never have. He picked up the phone and called Sandra, knowing that if nothing else, she'd come over and listen, perk him up and let him be himself. He needed that more than anything, to not hide what he really was, hide what he really needed to be happy. He just didn't have the courage to be that with everyone yet. Someday he'd be brave enough to be true to himself, but not today, not anytime soon.

The End


End file.
